


Break a Leg

by etoilephilante



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Background Relationships, Broke punk!Kim Hongjoong, Figure skater!Choi Jongho, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Depression/Anxiety, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Light Angst, M/M, Panic Attacks, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Woosan, basically one is injured and the other takes care of him and BAM they fall in love, blink and you'll miss them, getting better, i swear imo it's light, i think, it wasn't supposed to be one but Oh Well, it's just a romcom, it's really not as bad as the tags make it look like, let's raise a toast to olympic athlete jongho thank u very much, seongsang, the best character is the mother, yungi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:00:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23894215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etoilephilante/pseuds/etoilephilante
Summary: “Did you hear? Nation’s sweetheart Choi Jongho injured himself and retired! How scary, he’s still so young and talented! Hey, Kim Hongjoong listen to your mother, you punk. Oh I wish my kid was more like Choi Jongho, unlike my ungrateful son who only knows how to get fired-”“Ah, mom, you’re so mean, I already found a new job.”“Where? Another convenience store?”“As your dream son’s caretaker.”(Your typical romcom where Jongho and Hongjoong learn to accept who they are, simple flawed humans, with each other's help.)
Relationships: Choi Jongho/Kim Hongjoong
Comments: 23
Kudos: 173





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hi so i wanted to write a romcom abt an athlete who got a career threatening injury and just a few days after i started writing jongho really injured his leg it was all very disturbing, but i have concluded i am in fact, a witch
> 
> why a figure skater : bc it's abt the only olympic sport i find interest in and the more i thought abt it, the more jongho's thighs fit the role
> 
> it was supposed to be something like 5 to 10k long and then it got out of hands and it's abt 18k. it was also not supposed to be a slow burn but then i realized it was when my bestfriends almost killed me. i'm posting it in two part bc i'm a lazy little gremlin who hates editing but also wanna post immediately after finishing. i think overall the second part is better
> 
> part 2 will be posted in abt three days just so… i can edit it… 
> 
> there are probably mistakes left bc language does not actually exist
> 
> join me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/mingiopom)  
> 

Choi Jongho was gliding on the ice rink, twirling and spinning with as much ease as a flying bird. Peace was painted on his face, his eyes lined with golden and black shadows, were closed, and his straight eyebrows were completely relaxed. There was not an ounce of worry creasing his forehead – visible as his hair was cleanly pushed back –, or tensing his graceful shoulders. He slowly came to a stop in the middle of the rink under the applause of the country. The young skater had just made his grand entrance in the race for gold, proving himself worthy of being an Olympic athlete.

The image of Jongho's tired but happy face disappeared from the screen as the news anchor started talking again. Hongjoong looked back at his laptop, reading over his new contract, not really interested in what the TV was sprouting. His mother was on the couch, peeling potatoes, her glasses perched on her nose. Madam Kim was not too old, nor old looking, but with the way she frowned and squinted at the news channel at the moment, you would give her ten years more.

"Did you hear? Nation's sweetheart Choi Jongho injured himself and retired!" She exclaimed, looking down at her potatoes. Hongjoong rolled his eyes. "How scary, he's still so young and talented!" She lamented, as the big fan she had become of the young athlete ever since the Olympics. "Hey, Kim Hongjoong, listen to your mother, you punk. Oh, I wish my kid was more like Choi Jongho, unlike my ungrateful son who only knows how to get fired-"

Hongjoong continued reading, barely paying attention to his mother. "Ah, mom, you're so mean, I already found a new job," he replied, amused.

"Where? Another convenience store?" She snorted distractedly.

"As your dream son's caretaker," he deadpanned, and madam Kim turned around on the couch, her round face surprised, pointing a potato at her son in disbelief. "I swear I'm not lying, mom. Yunho found it for me." She frowned before turning back to her potatoes.

"Yunho's a good kid. Of course, he got you a job."

"Mom! Why do you always praise everyone but me? I'm your only son!"

She glared at him over her shoulder. "My son, who let this ugly mullet grow as if you don't already look like a gangster with this tattoo. I can't wait for when your hair all fall off because of how much you dye them!"

Hongjoong sighed at his mother's dramatics. It had all started like this: he was working at a convenient store, a job he got after his mother's continuous nagging when he dropped out of college, tired of getting his soul sucked out by the business course he had forced himself to study for almost two years, only to please his mother. It was not that his mother was a conservative or traditional woman. It was just that as the single parent she was, she wanted her son to do better than her. She let him drop out to think more about what he wanted to do, provided that he would work in the meantime.

That he could do. So Hongjoong had gotten himself a job at this convenience store, where he was mostly free to do what he wanted. His boss had been a bit of a creep, but usually let him off easily whenever he made dumb mistakes. He even turned a blind eye to the lollipops Hongjoong had occasionally stolen. But it seemed that two weeks ago, Hongjoong pushed it too far when he asked his boyfriend – at the time because the asshole had the nerves to break up with him that very same day – to meet at the store. The boyfriend might have come, and Hongjoong might have encircled his arms around his neck and might have asked for a kiss – which he had gotten. Now he realized the lack of enthusiasm his ex had displayed. And his boss might have come in the store right at that moment and gotten very upset at the sight of two men kissing in his righteous, absolutely not moldy, store.

When he had gone back home that day, not only he had to break the news to his mother, her boyfriend had also been here. Everyone knew they did not get along, Hongjoong did not trust him – even if he had yet to do anything wrong – and his mother's boyfriend had long stopped trying to win his favors. So he had not been particularly pleased to have to tell his mother he lost his job while her boyfriend was there; and he had been less than happy when his mother scolded him in front of him.

Later that night, he had cried in shame in his bed. He was not too proud thinking back to his mother coming in his room with fruits to make amends, only to find him choking on his tears under a pile of blankets like he was not a grown man. Hongjoong had not been too bummed about his lost job. Still, paired with the memory of his boss yelling slurs at him and just a few hours later his boyfriend – who he might not have seen as the love of his life, but for whom he had held his own share of affection – texting him that the reason he came to his workplace in the first place had been to break up. He had had a rough day.

It had ended with his mom hugging him around his blankets and promising him to go scold his ex with her scariest frown.

A few days later, he had been with Yunho at a trendy coffee shop near the latter's prestigious dance school. When he had told his friend about his newly jobless status, Yunho had dramatically twirled a blue strand of hair around his finger, battling his eyes at him. "If you tell me you love me, I will tell you about this job offer I've heard about..."

Hongjoong had hit him. And then waxed poetry at Yunho until he had to cut him off, unable to hold his cringe back.

"So Mingi told me that he knows from this guy in his class who knows this one dude whose brother is a junior figure skater, who told him that Park Seonghwa is going to Europe with his boyfriend. And Park Seonghwa just so happens to be ' _as beautiful as an idol_ ' skater Choi Jongho's coach."

"And...?" Hongjoong had stared confused at his friend.

"And..." Jeong Yunho had leaned in closer, looking secretive, keeping his voice low. "A little bird told me Choi Jongho recently injured himself, and they apparently need a carer to help him while Park Seonghwa is away. But of course, this stays between us."

Yunho had this almost magical skill; he knew everyone, everything, and could contact anyone. So a few days later, he had received a text from the dancer with a number to call. " _They're looking for someone with a driver's license, lots of free time and who can cook and clean, ur perfect. don't thank me, ilyt xoxo._ "

Hongjoong guessed it was quite urgent, because after he had called the number – which turned out to be Park Seonghwa's himself! – he had been asked to come in for an interview just a few days later.

And now he was reading over his contract, while the news of Choi Jongho's devastating injury broke out. He replied to the mail with the promise of coming in with the signed contract on Monday, his first day.

*

Jongho groaned as Seonghwa cruelly drew the curtains open, and he pulled his blanket closer, hiding his face to avoid the harsh sunlight. He tried to move, his back hurting from laying for so long and winced when the weight crushing his right leg worsened. "Okay, I've let you mop around, but I'm done now. Time to shower."

Jongho frowned, tightening his grip on his blanket. He felt pathetic. "I have nothing left to do but mop around, leave me alone."

"Nope," his coach said. The figure skater sighed, annoyed when he suddenly pulled back on his blanket, leaving him shivering on his mattress, only covered by boxers and a dirty shirt. He tried to curl up on himself but flinched as pain ran through his spine from his leg, caged in an ugly yellow cast.

Seonghwa let out a deep sigh as he sat down on the edge of his bed. Raising a hand to his shoulder, he gently rubbed his muscles with the tip of his fingers in a comforting gesture. "I understand how painful it is to fall from so high, but life is not over. There's light waiting for you at the end of the way, even if you can't see it yet, Jongho. Time to shower."

Jongho struggled a little. His usual strength was nowhere to be found after so many days spent doing nothing but being angry at everything. His coach wrapped his arms around his torso and moved him to the wheelchair near the bed.

In the bathroom, the ice skater only watched as Seonghwa was wrapping protective plastic around his cast. He felt empty of emotions, letting his coach tug on his shirt to encourage him to take it off. Once Jongho grasped at the hem of his shirt, annoyance flared up again under his skin. "Leave, I can shower alone, leave."

Seonghwa sighed again, still kneeling in front of the wheelchair he looked behind Jongho worriedly. "Okay, just let me take you to the shower, I'll be waiting outside." There was an ugly plastic chair in the middle of the shower, to which Seonghwa led him still clothed, his arms around his torso. Once Jongho was standing near the chair, his hands against the tile walls to support himself, he looked down. "Leave."

His coach listened, but left the door slightly ajar, probably waiting not far away. Jongho somehow managed to take his clothes off, throwing them carelessly in his bathroom, and sat down, wincing when his moves pulled at his broken bones.

When hot water started pouring down on him, he sat still, letting his body get soaked, barely registering the lack of air in his lungs. Jongho felt so angry and pathetic. He could not realize he lost everything in the span of five minutes.

Jongho was the type of figure skater who took a gold medal home after his first Olympics. He was the type of skater who had attracted the eyes of his country with his strength, his lightness, his gracefulness, and now it was all gone. From when he was barely seven, learning to extend his small body in the most perfect arabesques, to when he was just twenty years old, spinning at the speed of light on the ice with the happiest smile, just seconds away from winning his last competition, Jongho had never stopped reaching for higher. He got so high that when like Icarus, his wings melted, he wasn't prepared to losing it all.

His world stopped spinning in a matter of seconds. To celebrate the end of competition season and his newly won medal with his closest friends, they had gone in the mountains for a weekend, planning on skiing and bathing in hot springs. It had been fun, he had rarely let himself be so carefree, used to train consistently.

Jongho had had a fleeting thought that he had not felt this free before, enjoying for a second not working himself towards perfection. Now the athlete felt like he was being punished for not realizing he was never as free as when he flew around on the ice or when he spun and jumped on the wooden floor of his dance classes.

Seonghwa had fussed over him the entire weekend, whenever he went out to ski or to hike, continually repeating to pay attention to his surroundings, and Jongho never injured himself. But the one night they had decided to relax before leaving the next day, to celebrate and drink without worry. The one night his coach had not been continuously looking after him; the one night he had taken the very responsible decision to go upstairs to bed, feeling dizzy after so many shots, he had slipped on the last step of the stairs.

Choi Jongho, who attracted the eyes of thousands with his agility, who fell on the ice countless times, twisted his ankles while dancing so many times he lost count, missed the last step and fell. And broke his leg in four different places and ruined his career in five seconds.

"Jongho?" Seonghwa's voice called from outside of the bathroom, and Jongho, for a short second, saw in front of him the devastated eyes of his coach when he had opened his eyes at the hospital.

He sniffled, feelings hot tears spill on his cheeks and disappear within the water drops raining down on him. "Yes, coach, I'm okay. I'm almost done," he said, coming back to his senses.

After his hair was dried and Seonghwa forced him to do his skincare routine, he led him to the living room, where he settled him on the couch while he made lunch. Jongho wanted to go back to bed but knew his coach would not let him. The figure skater distracted himself with the news but turned the TV off as soon as he saw himself appear on the screen.

So the news broke out.

Taking his phone out, he scrolled down his twitter feed. His last tweet was from three weeks ago – "@IncredibleChoiJH: Winning gold feels like a dream, I will make sure to make my country even prouder in the future, everyone, thank you for your support." The young skater scoffed, _yeah right, in the future._

"I have something to tell you," Seonghwa started as he came back with two steaming hot bowls of ramen in his hands.

"Hm?" Jongho grabbed his bowl, only now realizing how hungry he actually was.

"Yeosang has a big editorial project in Europe," Jongho slowly raised his eyes to Seonghwa. "He asked me to come with him."

"And… you said yes?" The young skater could not help but feel a little hurt, even though he knew how selfish it was. "For how long?"

"Two months." Jongho slightly curled up on himself, his face closing off. Seonghwa stayed silent for a minute, only the sound of them slurping their noodles in the room before he put his bowl down and crouched in front of Jongho. "But I hired someone to help you around the house and drive you to places." He patted the knee of Jongho's uninjured leg. "I'll be back by the time you'll be starting rehab."

"I don't need a babysitter, coach."

"When you pout like that, you don't sound very convincing, Jongho."

*

Hongjoong slowed his mom's car – that she very kindly let him borrow since he had said he did have a car during the interview when it was, in fact, not the case. He made his way through the residential block, trying to find the right house and sighed at all the expensive cars parked in front of the houses. It was almost indecent. After turning a few times, he finally found Choi Jongho's home. It was easy to recognize, not because of the house that no matter how big and well maintained it was, still looked exactly like the other ones in the block, but because of the excessive number of flowers that were piling in front of the entrance gate. You would think someone died. Hongjoong sighed again, rolling his eyes, and parked.

As he made his way to the gate, he stared down at the flowers, scoffing at them. So there were even fans like these for athletes. "Hello, I am Kim Hongjoong, we met a few days ago," he said to the intercom when the person at the other side picked up after a few seconds. A voice mumbled something inaudible, and there was a static noise before the buzz of the gate rang out, making him jump. Hongjoong breathed out, nervous, unsure about what to expect when he found himself in a charming courtyard. He could see a solarium that led to a terrace off to the side of the house, but what caught his eye was a book that had been abandoned on a bench, open, and few pages flying with the wind. "Does he even have time to read?" muttered Hongjoong to himself, making his way to the bench. It turned out not to be a book, but rather a journal, worn out, its corners damaged, but obviously well-loved. "Ah, your owner will be in trouble if it rains," he said as he picked it up, not looking through it but catching the sight of neat handwriting and the sketch of a ballerina.

Hongjoong heard the front door open and snapped his head towards it, looking almost guilty of a crime he did not commit. Choi Jongho was standing there, looking quite sulky, frowning at him as he was leaning on his crutches. Hongjoong quickly made his way to the entrance, and Park Seonghwa appeared behind the athlete. "Ah good morning, I am Kim Hongjoong!" He slightly bowed, smiling.

"Good morning, mister Kim. I hope you didn't have any hard time finding the place," Seonghwa said, politely smiling back. He side-eyed Jongho, who stayed silent, his eyes strained on the notebook Hongjoong held against his chest.

"Ah! I found it on the bench, it's going to rain later this afternoon," Hongjoong said, holding the yellowish notebook out. Jongho only blinked at it, then at him, before raising an eyebrow. Hongjoong's eyes traveled to the crutches, and he nervously laughed, scratching his neck. "Ah, sorry."

"Let's go inside, to sort everything that needs to be sorted," Seonghwa intervened, giving him a sympathetic grimace.

Hongjoong waited a moment before following them, embarrassed and annoyed at the same time. "Does he have to be so cold? How can he be so young and so grumpy?" he complained.

The house was quite minimalist, yet surprisingly warm; however, everything felt so expensive, he barely dared to touch anything as Seonghwa was giving him a tour, explaining to him what he was expected to do. "This is not a hard job, Jongho can't start physiotherapy yet and doesn't have too many things scheduled, apart from a few medical appointments, I will send you the details."

Hongjoong saw Jongho clumsily sit down on the couch, noticing how tired the boy looked, before focusing back on Seonghwa, as they went further down the house, leaving the athlete behind.

"This is the guest bedroom, feel free to use it. And this is Jongho's bedroom." Seonghwa looked around him, seemingly making sure Jongho was still in the living room and lowered his tone before he started speaking again. "He's struggling a little, so please make sure he has a good diet and maybe take him out? He might protest, but he needs it. If you ever had doubts, call me, okay?"

Hongjoong nodded, frowning, before following Seonghwa again in the living room. Jongho was blankly watching the TV, the notebook Hongjoong had left on the coffee table on his lap, absentmindedly running his thumb over the cover.

The morning went in a blur, spent mostly sitting at the kitchen's counter as Seonghwa was explaining some more details. In the meantime, Jongho stayed on the couch, focusing on a cheesy-looking drama. Around noon, the coach took his leave, his flight being later in the afternoon. Hongjoong tried not to listen to Seonghwa and Jongho, hiding in the kitchen as they were talking. He noted that no matter how sulky the athlete looked, there seemed to be a profound understanding between them. Hongjoong thought to himself at that moment that Jongho looked like an abandoned child. Running a hand through his silver hair, he took his phone out of his pocket. Yunho had sent him an encouraging text for his first day, followed by a funny picture of Mingi goofing around in the dance studio. He smiled at the sight.

It was weird to be standing alone in a house he barely knew. He kind of wanted to cook lunch, starting to get hungry, but felt uncomfortable about touching anything. Sure, it was now his job, and he probably would have to do that, as he assumed moving around was not that easy for the athlete, but he could not help feeling like he had to be as quiet as a mouse. However, Jongho and his coach did not sound like they were done talking, and he could not just stand there doing nothing, that was even more embarrassing. And he really was starting to get hungry. Opening each cabinet, as quietly as he could as if he was committing some misdeed, he noted that he should probably do some groceries. Looking back at the list on the counter that Seonghwa had made with Jongho's usual diet, he pulled a face. Being an athlete was not too much fun in the end.

Hongjoong made simple stir-fried rice with what he had found in the kitchen, Seonghwa had left for a little while when he came back in the living with lunch ready. "Um, mister Choi? I made lunch, would you… um," Hongjoong felt incredibly awkward around Jongho, not knowing how to talk to him – and maybe a little intimidated. He did not know what to think about him yet, feeling a weird mix of annoyance at his quiet behavior, and sympathy for this young boy who looked like he was taking his first steps ever. Hongjoong stalked closer, extending his arms to offer help when Jongho quietly tried to get up to join him at the kitchen table.

"I'm fine," Jongho however, rejected his help without even looking at him, brushing past him. Hongjoong held back an annoyed sigh, discreetly rolling his eyes. They ate in silence, the atmosphere so awkward it was painful, as Jongho still kept his eyes on the TV.

"My mom also watches this drama," Hongjoong started, trying to initiate something, anything, to diffuse this stifling situation – to which Jongho was incredibly oblivious. Or perhaps was he unbothered by it, even though Hongjoong's legs were obviously nervously and uncontrollably bouncing under the table.

Jongho nodded, still not looking at him, and Hongjoong scrunched his nose, grimacing at his failed attempt at a discussion. They finished their meals quickly. He could not bring himself to attempt anything else, only nodding without a word when Jongho softly thanked him for the food, before leaving clumsily with his crutches toward his bedroom, not even daring to offer help again. When Jongho left his sight, Hongjoong let his head fall on the table, gripping at his hair. "Oh my god, what is this? Who does he think he is? So frustrating!" he grumbled to himself, whining and quickly stomping his feet against the floor to let out his frustration. "How am I gonna survive? Nation's sweetheart, my butt! He's so cold," he groaned, fake sobbing against the table. Definitely not the best first day he had had.

The first few days spent with Jongho went by in similar fashion, with him trying to talk and the athlete mostly ignoring him while remaining polite, either on the couch or in his bedroom. A few times, Hongjoong had tried to convince him to go outside. Still, the furthest Jongho would go was in his courtyard, where he sat on the bench with his worn-out notebook for only company. At first, Hongjoong tried to stay calm and patient, he only smiled when the young athlete would ignore him or at best gave him short answers. Yet, things changed when one day – he admitted, he had been particularly moody that day, his ex had dared to send him a text to get back together, did he look that easy? So he had been about to come inside Jongho's house, when – okay, he might not have been paying attention – he tripped on one of the numerous flowers, still sitting in a growing pile in front of the house. Unfortunately, there was a fan, still a high schooler, walking by, and she yelled at him – yelled! At him! – about how "disrespectful he was to destroy the nation's sweetheart's gifts". Yeah, sweetheart, sure. But after five minutes, Hongjoong finally could get rid of the fan and hide behind the entrance gate. And Jongho was here, on the grass, staring up at him like a deer caught in a headlight, stretching, despite his broken leg. Hongjoong had to admit he was impressed by his flexibility, though.

"Mister Choi? What are you… doing? Aren't you supposed to be resting?"

"I don't want to lose my flexibility," the athlete briefly answered, looking away from him, bending forward, his chest against the grass.

"I'm not supposed to let you do that..." Hongjoong mumbled, unsure, yet not daring to insist. "Ah, nevermind. Should we do something about the flowers in front of your house?"

"Don't care, do what you want with them."

That was what – weirdly enough – eventually made him lose his patience. "Ah, I'm starting to get fed up with you!" Jongho snapped his head towards him, his eyes as round as those of an owl. Hongjoong tried to cover up behind a frown the panic he felt at the disrespectful tone he was using with his _boss._ "I understand you're sad, you're grumpy, life is a bitch but snap the fuck out of it, are you a kid? Be grateful you have fans here to support you! And it's time to go out, let me do my job, now I'm going to take all these flowers, take them inside, and we're going grocery shopping. Together!"

_Don't fire me, don't fire me_ , _don't fire me,_ Hongjoong mentally prayed, but Jongho only looked like he had been slapped, his lips parted, seemingly not realizing that Hongjoong had stepped way beyond boundaries. He nodded quietly, stunned, and then frowned, recoiling. "Wait, no, I don't want to go out."

"Well, too bad, you don't have a choice."

And that was how Jongho's place was decorated with an excessive number of flowers, so much more colorful than before. And how Jongho ended up his hood up, a mask hiding his face and a red plastic shopping cart on his lap as Hongjoong was pushing his wheelchair through the grocery store's aisles. As usual, the athlete stayed quiet – at first. Then Hongjoong made the mistake of leading them near the snacks shelves, and while Hongjoong was focused on a dilemma about brands, Jongho silently rolled away. When he came back, Hongjoong was still hesitating between two brands, but the athlete had sneaked a mountain of unhealthy snacks in the cart.

"What is this?" He, albeit dumbly, asked when he turned toward Jongho and saw all this junk food.

"Snacks. To eat. By myself," Jongho replied, his voice as neutral as usual.

"No."

"What, why?" The athlete frowned up at him, and his unsatisfied pout reminded Hongjoong of the grumpy cat meme. It was weirdly cute.

"Because you're an athlete? And your coach gave me a specific list of things you could and couldn't eat and guess what. This," Hongjoong pointed at the pile of snacks, "is not in the list."

And then the situation took a turn Hongjoong would never have predicted: Jongho started whining. The eldest could only watch with wide eyes as the athlete crunched his face in an impetuous frown and started moaning about how " _unfair"_ it was that he could not even eat his favorite snacks as if he was not already _"hurt enough by life"_.

"Okay, mister Choi. Let's make a deal," Hongjoong sighed, after a while, and Jongho turned an interested eye to him. Hongjoong thought to himself that it was hard to remember that Jongho wasn't actually a kid he was babysitting but his employer, when he looked so young, when he was throwing a tantrum to get snacks. "You keep three of them if you agree to go out at least once a day."

"Deal."

Hongjoong was a genius.

Ever since that day, his job had been less cold, less like he was an uninvited guest into the athlete's house. Their dynamic took a U-turn. The same way Jongho got used to him enough to actually stop ignoring him, Hongjoong also got comfortable enough to call out Jongho whenever he was being annoying. Even though, the eldest did not think Jongho ever actually registered that he was supposed to be the boss.

Waking up early to tend to the young athlete's needs was less stressful when he did not feel like an actual ghost in the big house. While the words they exchanged were usually because they ended up bickering on some stupid matter – such as Jongho doing yoga despite his whole leg being wrapped in a cast – the athlete seemed more willing to eat his meals with him and did not protest too much when Hongjoong dragged him outside to get a breather.

Unfortunately, despite Jongho's acceptance of Hongjoong's presence, he was still very much unwilling to let him help him. That was where their bickers tended to lean more towards fights than simple jabs being thrown around.

Their fights were childish. This fight they were having now was, however, not just silly. It was also ridiculous. For all the progress they had made, it seemed like Jongho fell back into a moodier attitude with just a snap of fingers.

Hongjoong did not really know what they were fighting about. They were at the hospital for an X-ray appointment that would determine how well Jongho's leg was healing. The athlete was already in a sour mood when Hongjoong had arrived that morning. For once, he had not found him stretching on his yard's grass, but instead sitting on his couch with his TV screen turned on, one of his old performance playing.

It was not the first time it had happened – Hongjoong had quickly realized Jongho's piling frustration. It had happened once when the athlete was still ignoring him, Hongjoong had entered the house, and he had just left to his room and barely came out of it that day. If some days, or even some fleeting moments, Jongho suddenly turned bitter, becoming withdrawn, it was never as bad. Jongho usually refused Hongjoong's help to shower, or even to get in his wheelchair for long outings and days his leg was too painful to stand up. Still, at least he let him support him when they had to go up or down a flight of stairs, to help him get up, or even to get in or out his car.

It was not the case that day. Jongho had refused each one of Hongjoong's outstretched hands, and the minute the elder had stepped a foot in his house, the athlete had turned his TV off and left, not to be seen again for a few hours. If Hongjoong would usually have forced him out to eat, he also understood his need to be alone. He did feel compassion for Jongho, who probably felt nervous about his medical check-up later in the afternoon. Instead, he had just decided to watch a movie while working on some music, opening his laptop and waiting for the moment he would have to get the dragon out of his lair.

At precisely three o'clock, they were sitting on the blue plastic chairs aligned against a cold white wall, both staring at the doctor's office door, silent. The younger had yet to say a word at all, despite Hongjoong's attempts to get him to eat a snack.

And at half-past three, Jongho stormed out of the doctor's office, under Hongjoong's stunned eyes, clumsily limping away, the noise of his crutches against the hospital's tiles following him. He had looked at the doctor, wincing at his office door, and politely smiled, quickly bowing in a quiet and apologetic goodbye, to run after Jongho. He caught up to him just when Jongho violently opened the emergency staircase's door, obviously struggling to hold both his crutches and the door open. Hongjoong discreetly held the door open from behind him, before following him.

"Did it go that badly?"

"Leave," Jongho demanded, his jaw clenched. Hongjoong rolled his eyes so far back in his eye sockets, his head started hurting.

"No can do, sorry. What? Is your leg not healing correctly? Bad news?"

The youngest ruffled his own hair, letting his crutches fall with a loud metallic noise that echoed in the staircase. Hongjoong had a fleeting thought that Jongho looked incredibly young, with his black hair messed up and his gray hoodie that managed to swallow him, despite his broad shoulders. "Shit, just fuck off, leave!" Jongho raised his voice at him, his back still facing him. Hongjoong only briefly closed his eyes, holding back his own frustration – the athlete did probably have his reasons to be angry, he needed to be patient. He crouched down to pick up his crutches, noticing how Jongho was straining to keep his balance on only one foot.

"Let me spell it out for you, it's my job not to leave you alone. And this," he pointed at Jongho's broken leg, "is the proof you're already in a bad state. I don't care if you want to break your neck too, but I need my job's money, so no, I won't leave when you almost fell three times just limping your away out of the doctor's office."

Jongho sharply inhaled, holding his breath for a few seconds before loudly sighing, sending him an angry look, turning around to face him. Hongjoong gave him an annoyed look back, not at all impressed by Jongho's round face. Especially knowing about the young athlete's Rilakkuma underwear collection he had the pleasure to hang after doing laundry, or after being a victim of his numerous childish tantrums whenever he was in a bad mood.

"Oh my god, you useless twink just leave me the fuck alone, I don't need you! Leave, leave, leave! You'll get your fucking money, even if I jump down the stairs now, I'll pay you, okay? Leave me!"

Hongjoong froze, his shoulders tensing and clenching his jaw so hard, he hurt his teeth. He slowly got back up, the crutches in a grip so tight his joints were turning white. Jongho was frowning at him, his eyes darker than ever, but Hongjoong was now just as mad – if not more, after hearing the athlete use such words to address him.

"What did you just say?" He snorted, blowing one of his too-long silver bangs hanging in front of his eyes. "Okay, you know what, find another taxi to get back home, I give up." The second those words left his mouth, he let the crutches go, intentionally sending them a bit far from Jongho, before promptly leaving the staircase without looking behind once.

*

Jongho felt shame and guilt flare up under his skin as soon as he saw the door close behind Hongjoong, his misplaced anger melting down in an instant. He had been so blinded by his doctor's words playing on repeat in his ears, that he noticed that he had crossed the line only when it was already too late.

His heart was beating hard enough to numb his chest and the tip of his fingers with his shame. The athlete gritted his teeth, hiding his face behind his hands. His leg was already starting to strain from the lack of support.

"Jongho, you're a fuck up," the youth muttered to himself.

He was tired. Sighing to himself, the athlete jumped to his crutches where Hongjoong had thrown them – he did deserve that. He was aware of how clumsy and dumb he looked, refusing anyone's help and mostly from someone who had been hired to do just that.

" _Likely, you won't be able to pursue intensive training, in the future, I'm sorry._ " It was not the doctor's fault, nor was it Hongjoong's, it was all his, and perhaps it was precisely what made him angrier – he had no one to blame for losing his dream.

" _It does not mean you won't ever be able to dance or skate, but…_ " But not at a competitive level. Jongho scoffed, feeling the tip of his nose start tickling, and the rim of his eyes burn as a lump grew at the bottom of his throat. An ugly sob shook him, as he was awkwardly supporting himself on the wall to bend down and get his crutches. Damned crutches, he hated them, they made his palms rugged and painful.

" _Jumps that are too complicated could damage your bones irreversibly, I fear._ " Jongho let himself slide against the wall, frustrated, when the crutches slipped from his fingers again, to fall back down with a clatter. He was aware of how childish he looked, a torrent of tears soaking his cheeks and choking on his wails, but he could not find it in himself to care about looking messy, about looking pathetic. About someone potentially coming in the staircase and seeing him, even snapping a picture for the press. He was too busy pouring his tears on his broken heart.

And really, it should not have been a surprise. He did know from the moment he had opened his eyes at the hospital, after hours of surgery on his leg that there were chances that never again, he would be able to fly off the ice. But a whimsical hope in his guts had pushed him to forget about it, and now he felt robbed of his only purpose.

Jongho had been happy to touch the gold with his bare hands, but never getting it ever again was not what made him bawl his eyes out. It was the freedom, the risks, the speed that numbed his lungs every time he jumped and twirled in the air, that genuinely fulfilled him with happiness. It was the only moment where he felt like he was not a mere ant in the sea of people that populated their world, the single moment he felt alive. The only moment he felt like he was doing something, anything with himself.

The athlete did not want to get up. He wanted to wallow in his pain there on the cold hospital tiles. He wanted to apologize to his mom, whose dream he had not fulfilled. He wanted to cry on the pages of her journal, where the only picture of her he had left was drawn. He wanted to scream and let his rage out, to yell about how painful his heart and lungs were, to cry of frustration because of how itchy his cast was and because of the throbbing pain emanating from his broken bones.

As he was miserably hiccuping, his hoodie swallowing him up, and his face red and puffy from pouring his heart out, the door opened slowly. Jongho tensed, raising distraught eyes to the newcomer. The athlete felt a wave of relief and shame when his pupils met those, withdrawn, of Hongjoong. The lump grew back in his throat, and they both stayed silent.

Jongho could only watch as Hongjoong softly picked the crutches up, and then sneaked an arm under his shoulder to force him up. The athlete let himself be led through the hospital hallways, stunned that his elder had come back, despite his apparent anger and his muteness, only lowering his head to hide his miserable appearance.

Hongjoong had come back to help him, even though Jongho had shown nothing but stubbornness, going as far as insulting him. Jongho felt even worse, realizing how kind and patient the man was with him. He could only stay silent on the ride home, fidgeting on his fingers and not daring to look at Hongjoong's intimidating frown.

The elder kept coming at his house every day, after that episode, at the same hour, made him lunch, did some chores around the house, forced him out the house once a day, but it was his turn to give him the cold shoulder, only addressing him when necessary. Jongho felt terribly bad.

It was one of those moments where they were out, sitting in the park bordering the river, Jongho watching the gray sky slowly morph into something darker. The wind was soft against his skin like a lover's kiss. The rain was there and not at the same time, tiny little drops falling on his face and yet not annoying in the slightest. He slipped his notebook inside his jacket to avoid damaging it further. Hongjoong was sitting next to him on the bench, reading. What? He did not know. He did not ask.

Jongho's face was facing the sky were a few stars should have started to light it up, unfortunately hidden behind dark clouds. It felt like he had found peace within this small moment. "Aren't you cold?" Hongjoong asked after a moment, coming back to earth. It looked like he had left to dive in his book and only just came back. Hongjoong had barely said a word to him ever since he drove him back home three days before.

He was aware he had majorly fucked up. Hongjoong was only doing his job, and it had been unfair of him to lash out on him as if his elder was not a human just like him trying to do his best to put up with him. Jongho did not even dislike Hongjoong _per se_. What he hated was the idea of having someone assist him, having a _stranger_ help him when all his life he had been used to do everything by himself. This mixed with his usual awkwardness around new people, he had not been on his best behavior.

Jongho did not have many friends, busy his entire life with training, he could not say he had had many experiences during high school. He did tend to be a disaster in front of new people, but he felt like he had been worse with Hongjoong, who had been nothing but kind and patient with him.

Yet, he could not get himself to initiate the first step, embarrassed by his own words to the man.

"No, I'm not cold," Jongho shyly answered when he noticed Hongjoong looking at him with a quirked eyebrow. A minute of silence weighted on them during which Jongho could only look at his lap. His fingers fidgetted on the soft fabric of the plaid wrapped around his legs to keep him warm in his wheelchair.

Even angry, Hongjoong had made sure that this outing would be pleasant for him. Jongho felt his guilt twist his stomach even more. "Hongjoong… Can I call you Hongjoong?" Now that he thought about it, Jongho had never called Hongjoong by his name. Actually, it might have been the first time in the past two weeks ever since Hongjoong had come into his life, that he was the one speaking first. He felt even more ashamed of his own behavior.

"I don't know, you seem to like ' _useless twink_ ' better," Hongjoong retorted dryly, lowering his gaze back to his book, pretending not to pay attention to him. The athlete winced, gripping his plaid harder, looking down.

"Hongjoong, I am sorry for lashing out on you, I know you're just doing your job, I..." Jongho trailed off, quickly glancing at the elder to see him close his book, sighing. He let his head fall backward, looking up to the sky before turning serious eyes to him. Jongho looked away, feeling heat creep up his neck.

"Mister Choi, I am not mad that you yelled at me. I understand very well how anxious you must be," Jongho focused on his nails, trying his hardest not to give in to the temptation to bite them, feeling like a child getting scolded.

"Please, call me Jongho..."

Hongjoong sighed again. "Okay, Jongho. I understand that you feel under pressure, that it's hard to be so young and suffer from a career-threatening injury. But even if you're my boss, I won't accept being insulted for my sexuality."

Jongho's eyes widened, the reason for Hongjoong's offense suddenly dawning on him, after a brief moment of confusion. He raised a hand to his mouth to hold back a gasp. "Oh my god, it wasn't my intention, I'm so sorry."

The elder glanced at him, skeptical. Jongho waved his hand in front of him, apologetically bowing as best as he could while sitting in a wheelchair. "I'm serious, I got too used to call my friends like that. They're absolute twinks. I shouldn't have, I know, we're not close, it was truly uncalled for, I..."

Jongho was speaking too fast, drowning in his words, panicking in front of Hongjoong's disbelieving eyes. The athlete eventually stopped the torrent of words and excuses that flowed out his mouth, embarrassed, and the other man slowly blinked at him.

An awkward fell again upon them, and they just stared at each other. Until Hongjoong snorted. "So, it was a misunderstanding?"

Jongho timidly nodded, lowering his eyes to avoid Hongjoong's amused ones. "But it's my fault, I was disrespectful no matter what excuses I have..."

The other scoffed. "Yeah, it was. Shit, I thought you were another one of those guys who think it's okay to call people like me names just because you got your gay friends' validation." Jongho sent a contrite smile at Hongjoong, silently apologizing again.

Another instant of silence cut their talk off, during which Jongho was biting his lips, looking for a better way to make it up to Hongjoong. His eyes caught the neon lights shining above a restaurant's terrace.

"Um, it's past dinner time, what about we go eat at the dumpling place over there? It's on me," Jongho asked, completely aware of how unnatural his attempt at a truce looked. Hongjoong probably understood what he was doing right away, but thankfully just smiled and nodded, standing up to push Jongho's wheelchair.

The athlete was again surprised by Hongjoong's indulgence and kindness, even when he probably did not deserve it yet, already smiling at him – even if his smile did seem overly polite like he kept himself from saying everything that went through his mind. Jongho guessed it was not too far from the usual.

Once they were seating in the warm restaurant, taking in the relieving warmth of the place making the frozen blood in the tips of their fingers flow back in their veins, they kept quiet, lulled by the soft clatter and the light murmurs of the few people inside the dumpling shop. They had settled on the table facing the window with their orders steaming in front of them, silently diving in their food.

Hongjoong's words kept replaying in his head. " _I thought you were one of those guys who think it's okay to call people like me names just because you got your gay friends' validation_." The athlete could not help but feel both curious and bothered by those words. Had Hongjoong often been called names? He did look like someone with whom society would not be too kind, now that Jongho looked more closely at the ink carved on his neck, his mullet, and his colorful and extravagant clothes.

Jongho's eyes were riveted on Hongjoong's nails painted with glitters when the latter cleared his throat, staring at him with his cheekbones weirdly flushed and an awkward rictus on his lips. Jongho realized he had been unabashedly scrutinizing Hongjoong for quite some time, instead of eating. He felt the nape of his neck burn and turned his eyes away, curling up on himself and swallowing his dumplings down while wishing he could disappear.

"Is there something bothering you?"

The athlete raised his gaze to Hongjoong, his cheeks puffed up by the three dumplings he had stuffed in his mouth. Another one that was trapped in between his chopsticks ready to join its peers in his stomach fell back down in his plate, splashing soy sauce. Hurriedly swallowing down his food and almost choking on it, Jongho scrunched his nose at the small stains on his white shirt. Hongjoong quietly giggled behind his hand.

"I was just curious..." The younger muttered, softly thanking the other when he gave him paper napkins.

Hongjoong hummed. "About what?"

"It's kind of personal, I know, but you said earlier…" Jongho felt embarrassed about even asking, the more he talked, the more it sounded like he was crossing boundaries. "That I was another one of those guys… who call you names… it happens often?"

Hongjoong winced, looking hesitant, and sighed, putting his chopsticks down before shrugging. "I guess so. I was fired from my last job because my boss saw me with my ex."

The athlete's heart dropped in his chest, and he lowered his eyes. "I'm sorry."

The other man shrugged again, giving him a small smile. "It's okay, you kind of get used to it, even if sometimes it's frustrating, I'm still happier now than when I was hiding who I am."

Jongho looked back at Hongjoong, to find him staring straight at him. "Why are you asking, by the way?"

He hesitated, gulping, thinking carefully about the other's words. He was both impressed by Hongjoong's strength, and envious, wondering about how nice it would be to fully be himself and not scared about the hurtful words that could be thrown at him.

Eventually, he decided that if Jongho had learned anything about Hongjoong these past few weeks together, it was that he was trustworthy.

"If I tell you something really private, can you promise me you won't run to dispatch and tell everyone?"

Hongjoong scoffed and nodded. "Do you need a pinky promise?" He said, raising his fingers. The athlete knew he was only joking, yet could not help but shyly hook his finger to Hongjoong's, triggering a burst of laughter out of him.

Jongho realized it was the first time he saw the other laugh wholeheartedly with him and not just politely smile. It dawned on him, seeing how natural and beautiful his grin was, that Hongjoong was the type to smile a lot. Yet, he had never noticed it because of his own self because of how reluctant he had been to Hongjoong's presence. And perhaps it was not so bad to be closer to his elder; he could not believe that it had taken Hongjoong getting mad at him for him to let him in.

The brunet looked around them, making sure no one was close enough to hear them. "I like men," he mumbled, and Hongjoong gaped at him. "And women. But yeah, I'm like you." Jongho shyly admitted, feeling embarrassment creep up his neck. "But not being out, I don't know how it could feel to be called names because of..."

"Are you scared?" Hongjoong asked, with this soft and understanding voice of his.

Jongho nodded. "I've been kind of sheltered, I know that. I don't really know about how people like… us… are treated," he tried to explain himself, painfully aware of how entangled his words were. "I mean, I know Seonghwa is coach only because he couldn't stand being in the public's eyes after his relationship with Yeosang got exposed, but I think I've been trying to ignore all of that because I was too scared of the possible outcome of me being..."

"Into men," Hongjoong finished for him, gently, understanding he still had a hard time really admitting out loud this part of himself he had been hiding from the world. "It is scary, but it gets better if you are lucky enough to be surrounded by good people. I have my mom, and you have your coach."

The athlete smiled gratefully at Hongjoong. "I guess now I don't have to be so scared of losing it all because of that, my leg did it well enough," he pitifully joked, sending an irritated look at his cast.

"Losing it all?" Hongjoong seemed surprised, and Jongho smiled sadly.

"Hm, I can't skate competitively anymore, that's what the doctor said the other day."

Hongjoong sighed, running a hand through his silver hair and then putting it on Jongho's shoulder in a gesture of comfort. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"It's okay," the athlete lied, and the elder did not seem to be fooled.

"It's not okay, you know it." Jongho slightly curled up on himself, avoiding Hongjoong's earnest gaze. "It's not okay that you can joke that you can be out now that you can't be the nation's champion anymore, because you deserve that title no matter who you love. And we both know that you're not okay. What's okay is what you're feeling, being scared of being treated unfairly, and being devastated that you can't skate as you want anymore. But it's going to get better, you're going to heal, and you still have so many people here to support you, even if it's not our country."

Jongho swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat. "Thank you," he croaked out, putting his hand on Hongjoong's, still on his shoulder, to express his gratefulness at his words. It felt relieving to let everything out and to hear understanding words. Hongjoong gave him a knowing smile.

"And now, I'm also here to help you."

"Thank you for being so patient, Hongjoong."

Jongho felt lighter. They had both needed a heartfelt talk to understand each other better. The athlete felt more and more curious about the silver-haired man who looked so small and so thin, and yet gave the impression that he was never scared of fighting the world. Jongho caught himself wanting to be more like Kim Hongjoong, who was braver than he had ever been in his whole life.

They exchanged a dumpling as a symbol of truce and filled the restaurant with soft laughter, only leaving when a mother recognized Jongho and started asking him about his comeback on the ice.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Mom, I don’t wanna go to work tomorrow."
> 
> “No, you have to go take care of my son-in-law.”
> 
> “Stop calling him your son-in-law, mom.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi i said i'd post part 2 tomorrow but then i decided to procrastinate everything by editing so here we are
> 
> i'm happier with this part, i find it cute and very romcom worthy
> 
> i have nothing much more to say so i guess, please enjoy!

From that point, their relationship took another turn. Hongjoong and Jongho often found themselves sprawled on the couch, watching TV shows together, Jongho also found it easier to talk to Hongjoong about nothings. Nothings that sometimes led to heated debates over whether extraterrestrials existed or not. Hongjoong insisted that they had already invaded earth and were hiding within the human population, while Jongho firmly claimed that it was not the case.

Jongho also stopped glaring at Hongjoong whenever the latter scolded him for doing dangerous stretching sessions or even yoga when he was supposed to be resting. He would even let him help him move around instead of ridiculously and clumsily try to do stuff alone.

It did feel good to rely on someone, and not just grit his teeth whenever his leg was in his way.

They had gotten a lot closer. One morning Hongjoong had come in for work to find Jongho sitting in his usual spot on his courtyard’s bench, flipping over the pages of his journal. He had silently sat next to him, muttering a “good morning”, obviously not yet out of dreamland.

“I never see you write in your notebook,” he had remarked, and Jongho had replied with a hum.

“It’s not mine, it was my mom’s, she was a ballerina,” the athlete had softly smiled, rubbing the tip of his fingers on the corners of the worn-out pages. “She wrote here about her love for ballet and my father. He was a figure skater. They loved each other a lot, I think.”

“You think?”

“Hm, I don’t remember them, they died in a car crash when I was two. My aunt used to show me that notebook so I wouldn’t forget them.”

“Is that why you started dancing and skating?”

“Yeah,” Jongho had given a nostalgic smile to Hongjoong, who returned it, interest shining in his eyes. “I couldn’t choose, it felt like I had to choose between my two parents, it made my aunt go crazy, she was always worried that I wasn’t getting enough sleep to grow up normally.”

Jongho had also learned a lot about Hongjoong. About his interest in songwriting, even showing him a few of his music when Jongho had asked what he was doing, as Hongjoong had been focused all afternoon on his laptop, earphones in his ears. But also about past love experiences.

“Ever had a lover?” Hongjoong had wiggled his carefully drawn eyebrows at him during lunch while they were playing at twenty-one questions.

Jongho had flushed, suddenly ashamed of his lack of experience. “I only had a first kiss, one day, when I missed school to hang out with the cool kids in middle school. There was that one girl, she was dared to kiss me because she lost at a game. It was all very awkward, and then my aunt found us and dragged me home by the ear.”

Hongjoong had cried from laughter, Jongho closely following suit. When they calmed down, Jongho had asked with a timid voice the same question to Hongjoong, who informed him that he had had a few boyfriends. Then he had told the athlete about his most embarrassing stories.

“Once I met that guy at Mingi’s birthday party, and we hooked up on his couch, and I kid you not, his sister legit walked in on us.”

Jongho had just looked at him, horrified, his hands covering his ears and his mouth twisted by the second-hand embarrassment; Hongjoong had laughed and snapped a picture of him. “I swear, I’m gonna use it as a meme, and you can do nothing about it.”

The athlete had also met Hongjoong’s mother. The elder often mentioned her and how she talked more about Jongho than her son, about the way she lovingly nagged at him for even breathing. She had come one day, having packed in his – her – car five big plastic containers stuffed with various side dishes, not letting her son protest when she had settled on the passenger seat, claiming that if her son would spend more time at Jongho’s than at home, the least she could do was to make sure they ate well. Hongjoong had admitted to Jongho that it was probably just an excuse to meet the athlete.

Hongjoong continued to force him out of the house, as well. That day, Jongho did not know where they were going, he had just hopped in the car, taking his phone out of his jean jacket’s pocket, not raising his eyes even once, while Hongjoong was folding his wheelchair and stuffing it in the trunk.

When he finally pocketed his phone, he turned his head to Hongjoong, quietly watching him drive. It would be a lie to say his heart did not jump a little at the sight of the other man’s eyes riveted on the road, and his cherry red lips puckered in a focused pout, his back straight and his face serious.

“Do I have something on my face?” Hongjoong asked, amused, quickly glancing at him with a tiny smirk.

Jongho felt his face flush, caught-red handed, and he cleared his throat. “Where are we going?” He asked, slightly stuttering.

“Here, look,” Hongjoong pointed his chin ahead and pulled up. Jongho’s heart dropped when he recognized the building where he trained, irritation suddenly pulling at his guts. Neither of them got out of the car, sitting in silence for a few seconds. “I thought that it could do you good to come here.”

Jongho nodded. “I… don’t know. Seeing people skate when I can’t, I don’t know if I can do it.”

“Who said you weren’t gonna skate?”

The athlete gaped at Hongjoong, stunned. “What?” The silver-haired man wiggled his eyebrows at him, the corners of his mouth lifting impishly, and got out of the car to get his wheelchair out of the trunk.

Jongho was frozen on his seat, hesitant to open the door to get out. He kind of wanted to stay safe here, scared of facing people he usually trained with, or anyone really. He did not feel ready to show his face to the world yet.

Hongjoong was the one to open the door. “Here, princess, your throne is ready,” he joked, obviously trying to relax the younger. But Jongho stayed put, sending an apprehensive pout to the other man, who sighed. “I know it’s hard. I made sure there wouldn’t too many people. Let’s try, and if you really can’t, we go home.”

The athlete thought over these words a few seconds before eventually agreeing and getting out of the car.

That there weren’t too many people in the ice rink would be a euphemism. There was not anyone at all, except for Choi San and Jung Wooyoung, who welcomed them with gigantic grins and linked hands. Jongho had met them when Seonghwa had taken the two lovebirds under his wing too, coaching all three of them together. Hongjoong – who knew them from the few times they had come over to hang out with him whenever their own training let them – greeted them.

“Thank you for helping me with this,” he told them, while Jongho was staring at them, his eyes wide open.

“You did this all together?”

San beamed at him. “Yeah, we managed to convince the higher-ups to close for today.”

“The least they could do for our dear gold medalist,” Wooyoung winked. Jongho felt his, grateful nonetheless, smile twitch at these words, but still thanked his friends for their efforts to make him feel better.

They left after fixing everything in his wheelchair to adapt it for the ice and joking around, messing with him and succeeding at what they did the best, that is making him forget all his anxiety with their shenanigans, their laughter too loud and contagious.

“Do you even know how to skate?” Jongho curiously asked Hongjoong, when the silver-haired man was tying his skates, getting up and suddenly looking not so confident. He winced.

“These are much more uncomfortable than I imagined with how easily you jump and do all these cool stuff,” Hongjoong pouted, running a hand in his hair to get his bangs away from his forehead. The athlete snickered.

“They’re a bitch,” he readily agreed, looking fondly at the blades. “But I guess the pain is part of the fun, just like when I fail a landing, the only thing I want to do after falling on my ass is trying again, even if my body’s covered in bruises.”

Hongjoong led them to the rink, and even though he was still sitting in a wheelchair, knowing he was on the ice felt like the biggest, the most freeing breath of fresh air. His hands shook, and he folded them in tight fists, hiding them under his tighs.

It took a few minutes for Hongjoong to get the hang of it, but when he felt him getting more confident, getting used to glide on the ice, he closed his eyes. “Please, faster,” the athlete demanded, his voice almost gone.

“Brace yourself,” Hongjoong only chuckled, before skating faster and faster, circling the rink.

With his eyes closed, the air ruffling his hair, hitting his face, their speed, Jongho was almost back on his feet, twirling and flying and jumping, the sound of applauds and cheers echoing in the arena, while he succeeded his last jump of the routine.

With his eyes closed, everything felt so normal, like he could breathe again, like he had never broken his leg.

They continued like this for a few minutes, Jongho letting himself enjoy this little moment that felt like a dream. But Hongjoong tired out quite quickly, stopping the wheelchair in the middle of the ice.

“My arms are going to fall off,” he joked. Jongho grinned, not opening his eyes just yet, just reveling in the relieving sensation of having his lungs full of oxygen again. “How do you feel?”

“Like I could fight a bear and win,” the athlete drawled out, finally opening his eyes to look at Hongjoong with an ecstatic glint in his pupils. The elder licked his lips, and Jongho found himself thinking that even upside down, Hongjoong was entrancing.

He slid around the wheelchair, to stand in front of Jongho. “Your hair is all messy, you look like you did fight a bear,” he snorted, leaning forward to lightly comb his hair.

Feeling his bony fingers in his hair, Jongho could not help the blush that spread on his face, staring at Hongjoong with wide owl eyes. He was still smiling down at him, amusement shining in his dark eyes, and it weirdly flustered him.

“Get up,” Hongjoong urged him, and Jongho frowned up at him. “It’s okay. I’m going to support you.”

He intertwined their hands together, pulling him up – Jongho noticed how small Hongjoong’s hands were in his. It was a struggle to steady him when one of his foot was wearing a sneaker and the other a cast, but Hongjoong firmly clasped his hands around his waist, and Jongho hesitantly rested his on the elder’s shoulders, gripping his shirt. Hongjoong suddenly looked way taller than him with his skates, even though Jongho knew he usually had a few centimeters on Hongjoong. “And now what?” The athlete asked, avoiding the other’s gaze.

“Relax your body,” Jongho took a deep breath and nodded. “Trust me, close your eyes.”

“Hard when it’s your first time skating, and I’m probably twice your weight.”

Hongjoong scoffed, and Jongho closed his eyelids despite his previous words. And Hongjoong slowly made them twirl, carefully and awkwardly. The athlete had both feet on the ice, putting more support on his healthy leg, and let Hongjoong lead them, circling around him, his hands on his waist, spinning him on his spot.

Perhaps it was slower paced than real turns, but with his eyes closed and hands on his waist, it was just as disorienting. And he was on his feet.

When they came to a stop, they were both breathless, their harsh gasp for air hitting each other’s faces. “I hope no one saw that they’d go crazy if they saw me standing on the ice with no skates and a broken leg.”

“No one has to know,” Hongjoong replied, tightening his small fingers where they had slipped on Jongho’s hips.

They stayed silent another few seconds, just staring at each other with delight on their lips.

Jongho could not resist the urge to wrap his arms around Hongjoong shoulders, and the latter squealed when he found himself trapped in his strong embrace. “Thank you for existing, Kim Hongjoong,” he murmured into the elder’s ear.

He shivered when Hongjoong finally released the tension in his shoulders, hugging him back, his soft and warm breath hitting his cheek. “Thank you for letting me in, Choi Jongho,” Hongjoong only replied. Jongho thought he was so fucked for the infatuation that had grown faster in his heart, for Hongjoong, than any rotations he had ever done during competitions.

*

Hongjoong was sitting at the kitchen counter, his coat still on, and his cheek smashed against the wood table, desperation painted on his face. He felt like his heart had been hammering continuously ever since he had gotten back from work. He replayed in his mind the way Choi Jongho had breathed grateful words to him, the way his own breath had stuttered at the sight of the brunet’s ecstatic face – for a moment, he had known why the nation fawned over him.

He had understood why he had done this for the skater, breaking the rules and health recommendations by forcing Jongho up and giving him a semblance of a dream, when for the first time in these past weeks together, Jongho had finally looked like he was whole.

If the athlete had looked incredibly young and immature to Hongjoong, this image of Jongho had vanished in his mind the moment the power of his passion moved his round features. His dark eyebrows, his button nose, his heart-shaped lips, his shiny black pupils, there was no child in there, it was a man who stood only a few centimeters apart from him.

Hongjoong let a long and sorrowful whine against the kitchen, remembering how firm and muscled the athlete’s waist had felt under his fingers. “How am I even gonna look at him tomorrow,” he bemoaned, faking a sob out of frustration.

“Oh, is my little boy’s life very hard?” His mom’s voice echoed, and he raised his head, resting his chin on the table, to meet his mother’s amused eyes on the other side of the counter. He weakly nodded.

“Mom, I don’t wanna go to work tomorrow,” he pouted, and she rolled her eyes.

“No, you have to go take care of my son-in-law,” she shook her head, joining him in the kitchen to open the fridge.

“Stop calling him your son-in-law, mom,” Hongjoong sighed, twisting his body to look at his mother. She slapped his back, muttering about he was gonna get joints issues at only twenty-two if he did not sit correctly.

“He’s cute, he’d be a good husband for you, kind, polite, famous,” her son groaned, hiding his face in his hands and stomping his feet on the parquet floor, not too happy about his mom’s affection for the athlete. “And take off your coat.”

“No, too tired,” he mumbled, but ultimately got up when his mother glared at him, dragging his feet on the floor to the entrance closet when he unceremoniously threw his coat, despite his mom complaining that he should hang it.

“Was Jongho happy to be back on the ice?” Madam Kim asked more seriously, her teasing grin melting into a concerned interest. Hongjoong gave her a proud smile.

“I think it made him happy.” He could not hold back a blush, thinking back about those damned words that had made his heart skip.

“Oh, did something else happen?” His mother asked, pinching his flushed cheek. “Is my son blushing? How cute.”

“Ah, mom, stop that, I’m not a kid,” he whined, moving his face away with a small frown.

She chuckled, telling him that he would always be a baby to her, and Hongjoong groaned some more, for the sake of keeping face.

Later, when he was back in his room, working on some songs he had written the past few weeks, he noticed the pages he had filled with black ink were all happier than they had ever been. Perhaps helping Jongho had not been good only for the athlete, probably Hongjoong had also needed this little change in his life that working for Jongho was.

He was not yet sure if it was a good thing, but figured that he still had a month to spend with Jongho before Seonghwa would come back, to decide.

However, the next morning he felt like a mess. He had woken up with a raging and admittedly irrational anxiety. He was afraid of many things, he had always been afraid of many things – saying the wrong thing at the wrong moment, never fitting in, not knowing what the future held for him, more often than not even just going outside. This morning it was going to work after the sincere words Jongho and he had muttered to each other. He had laid in his bed, staring at the ceiling, ignoring his bladder that was threatening to explode because he could not get himself to leave his blankets, fear pulling at his stomach. Even if he had somehow managed to push back his incoming breakdown the evening before, his head was full of Jongho’s beaming face. Of his closed eyes while he asked to go faster – he thought back about the shiver that had covered his spine, and another wave of panic twisted his guts. Hongjoong was not dumb, he knew what this all meant, and that was precisely what had stuck him on his mattress, not that he was the type to run away anytime he got feelings for a man – but this particular man, Choi Jongho, it was not the same at all.

Choi Jongho was different from every other man Hongjoong had ever known for many reasons, the foremost being that he was supposed to be his boss, even if it did not feel like it, he was also so much better than him in so many ways. Hongjoong had never felt like anything more than a waste of space, always lost, always anxious, always a little too himself to be entirely accepted. He struggled, and struggled, and was not always strong enough to get back up. Jongho was not the same at all. He was bright, loved, and strong.

Waking up with the sudden realization that he was not too indifferent to the gold medalist felt like a weight had been left on his chest, and he could not get up to go to work. He had rummaged through every corner of his brain, and never he managed to find a satisfying scenario where this day would be normal after Hongjoong knew what bliss looked like on Jongho’s face, how cute he was with messy hair, and how good he was at making at his heart skip just by being too close. He felt like they had been too close. He did not know how to behave with the athlete now. Should he just act like usual, joke around with him, get lost in existential debates with him, despite knowing that at each layer he pealed from Jongho, getting to know more and more about the young athlete, his heart was driving him into a wall?

But in the end, he could not just wallow in his panic, and he found himself standing in front of Jongho’s house. He had been pacing back and forth for five minutes, trying to muster up the courage to come in.

When Hongjoong eventually got tired of his own hesitation, he opened Jongho’s door perhaps a bit too violently, because he was met with the sight of a very startled looking Jongho who was for some unknown reason standing near the entrance.

They just stared at each other for a very long and embarrassing minute, the athlete looking like a deer caught in headlights, and Hongjoong feeling a scorching hot blush spread through his neck to his ears, his hand gripping the door handle so hard his joints were turning white.

“Um, good morning?” Hongjoong said, immediately beating himself up mentally for sounding so unsure of himself like he was not supposed to be here. He was actually ten minutes late. Jongho smiled – or winced? – at him.

Hongjoong turned around to close the door, with much more care than necessary, looking sternly at the door like it was the cause of his every issue.

“Slept well?” He asked, trying to act as normal as usual.

Jongho nodded, slowly blinking at him, like a cat. “Um, yeah, um, I was going outside, I think.”

“You think?” The athlete reddened, lowering his gaze as if he was looking for something.

“Ah, I forgot my journal,” he nodded, suddenly looking very determined, before turning around and quickly disappearing in the living room, the sound of his crutches following him.

The entire morning went by similarly, with them dancing around each other, avoiding gazes, often catching each other staring whenever one thought the other was not looking. It did not help with Hongjoong’s anxiety, that he felt slowly worsening every time Jongho found excuses to leave a room when Hongjoong entered it, and he was himself getting self-conscious about his own awkwardness.

They went about their day just like they usually did, except that laughter did not fill the house. Neither of them sat even once on the couch to laze around, and Hongjoong did twice as many chores as he usually did, putting all his focus into the laundry, dishes, even rearranging the flowers that were still filling the house with colors. Lunch was the worst, both their nose in their bowls, never raising their eyes and coughing, stiff, whenever they reached at the same time for the same thing. So, it was not like every ordinary day.

Hongjoong was immersed in the very captivating task of dusting every single surface he could find when Jongho asked in a shy voice some help to move a cardboard box – for why did he even need to do that now?

He followed Jongho, a few steps behind him, and was surprised to see Jongho about to go up the stairs that led to a second-floor he knew was supposed to be a bedroom that the skater only used as a storage room.

“Ah, wait, let me help you,” he said as a reflex, rushing to Jongho, taking one of his crutches and replacing it with his shoulder, wrapping his arm around the brunet’s waist. He only realized his mistake when his face was suddenly way too close to Jongho’s, whose wide eyes mirrored his. There was a fleeting moment where they remained still, their eyes locked, during which Hongjoong could only hear his own pulse before they both turned their gaze away, Jongho only whispering a soft _thank you_.

While they were slowly going up the stairs, Hongjoong could only think about Jongho’s hand gripping the fabric of his shirt on his shoulder blade, and again, the way he could easily feel the curves of the athlete’s muscles under his fingers.

“Why did you need me to grab that box?” Hongjoong asked once he had fetched it where it was on top of a pile of boxes and dropped it at Jongho’s feet with a tiny _oof_ , feeling his back strain with how heavy it was.

“It’s just old comic books, I kind of wanted to read one… suddenly,” Jongho admitted, carefully trying to sit down. Again, Hongjoong helped him, his hands around his – very strong, very impressive – biceps. “Wanna look together?”

The eldest nodded, quietly sitting near him, ignoring the little voice in his head yelling at him that he should not because he would surely embarrass himself in some way or another, and leaning toward the box that Jongho had opened.

The atmosphere was still a little tense, but Hongjoong tried his best to put aside his own anxiety, taking one of the comic books and opening it between them both. The athlete also leaned forward to see the pages better.

“This one I remember when I was twelve, I missed school just to line up at the bookstore where the author was doing a signing,” he pointed at the blotchy words on the first page. “He forgot a letter in my name.”

Hongjoong chuckled, and suddenly all their awkwardness was forgotten. “You missed school a lot,” he teased the athlete, who gave him a wince.

“My professors couldn’t stand me anymore.”

They continued to flip the pages, their shoulders brushing, Jongho pointing at a few pictures, while Hongjoong giggled at his commentaries.

But the way his heart threatened to pierce through his chest and escape could not be ignored the third time the athlete leaned on him, laughing in his shoulder after Hongjoong had made some joke. When Jongho raised his head again, the corners of his eyes still creased by giggles, Hongjoong blinked rapidly, suddenly amazed by the depth of his pupils and how carefree he looked, now.

Jongho quickly lost his grin, straightening himself and looking right back at him with his owlish eyes. Their faces were so close, Hongjoong could feel Jongho’s breath hitting his lips, and unconsciously he licked them, feeling his mouth drying up – he gulped when the athlete glanced down at them, his gaze attracted by the tip of his tongue wetting his lips.

His heart stopped almost entirely and his brain blanked out completely when a strident ringtone echoed in the room, making both of them jump out of their skin. They stared at each other, surprised, and blood rushing to their cheekbones before Hongjoong suddenly realized the ringtone was actually coming from his phone in his pocket.

“Uh, I have to get that,” he explained, stuttering on his words, while Jongho nodded, silent. Hongjoong shamefully fled downstairs, answering a little breathless. He was frustrated that they had been interrupted, while anxiety flared up again in his veins, as he wondered what the hell had gotten over him, how the hell he would ever be able to stand in the same room as the skater.

The afternoon passed by with Jongho having locked himself in his room and Hongjoong pacing back and forth in the living room, dusting once again every surface of the house, and leaving the second his phone announced six o’clock.

It took them a few days to stop being shamefully skittish around each other, but it eventually got better. At first, Hongjoong could not look at Jongho without thinking about the fleeting moment of tension where it had looked like the athlete wanted to kiss him just as much as he did. But even though there was always some lingering tension and ambiguity in each one of their interactions, conversations, and touches, they had both come to a silent agreement to act like that this almost kiss would remain locked in the room on the second floor.

They just continued with their routine, and Hongjoong ignored as best as he could the way sometimes his lungs emptied at the sight of the athlete, or how a warm wave of fondness filled him up whenever Jongho’s face lit up with his bright and unique gummy smile.

Hongjoong spent most of his time overthinking everything, but it was not the realization that he liked Jongho perhaps a bit too much that bothered him the most, it was the sadness he had felt when he noticed they only had two weeks left before the end of Hongjoong’s contract. The Monday that began his second to last week together with Jongho, he simply could not help but feel down. They might have had a rocky start, but now that they had gotten so close, even without romantic feelings, Hongjoong wanted to continue seeing Jongho every day, wanted to keep on being around him.

“What are you doing?” The skater’s voice asked behind him, and Hongjoong was surprised not to have heard him arrive.

“Looking for a job, since Seonghwa is coming back soon,” he answered when Jongho sat down next to him, looking at his laptop’s screen. The younger nodded, despite suddenly looking a bit withdrawn – was he also just realizing that Hongjoong would soon stop to come?

“It’s funny, but I used to think you were an annoying little shit, and now I think I’ll even miss you,” Hongjoong said, trying to pass his words off as a simple joke, but Jongho stayed silent, looking like he had something to say.

“I will, too,” he only mumbled quietly, moving his gaze away from the screen, leaning back against the couch’s backrest and folding his hands on his lap.

“There are still two weeks left, don’t fret,” the elder chuckled, reassuring words he did not know whether they were for Jongho or himself, gently nudging his arm.

After a while, Hongjoong got tired of staring at his laptop screen. Jongho was still silently sitting on the other end of the couch, his head on his arm, looking a little sleepy, focused on his phone. “Do you want to watch a movie? I don’t feel like going out,” the silver-haired man suggested, and the athlete simply nodded, stretching his arm above his head like a lazy cat.

“What do you feel like watching?” Jongho asked when he had grabbed the TV remote, displaying a long puzzle of movie thumbnails on the big screen.

“Ah, there’s Interstellar right here, I’ve never seen it,” Hongjoong enthusiastically said. Jongho chuckled.

“I’m totally going to fall asleep.”

And it was what happened. They had spent the first thirty minutes of the movie commenting it, Hongjoong curled on himself, half-lying down, Jongho in the middle of the couch, his broken leg resting on the coffee table, his head tilted backward, and his cheek squeezed on the backrest’s cushion. Both had heavy eyes, their commentaries becoming fewer and fewer, and eventually, they fell asleep, lulled by the sound of the TV, not even realizing it, overtaken by the sweet atmosphere of the afternoon.

When Hongjoong woke up, his mouth was furred, the room illuminated only by the TV’s blue screen-saving mode, and when he looked toward the window, he noticed that the sun had set, the bright blue sky replaced by one that was darkening more and more by the minute.

In his dazed state, it took him some time to register that somehow he and Jongho had gotten entangled during their nap. When he finally noticed the athlete’s head on his stomach, his body probably uncomfortably twisted, his legs still on the coffee table, but the upper side of his body sprawled on Hongjoong, his heart jumped in his chest.

He tried to move, discreetly, to grab his phone that had fallen down on the floor, and saw he had several texts from his mother and that it was half an hour past the hour he usually came home. He quickly sent a text telling her not to worry and to eat without him, not to keen on moving from his spot under Jongho’s warmth, despite the fact his heart was about to explode.

Turning his phone off, he diverted his attention back to the sleeping athlete. With shaky hands, he brought his hand to Jongho’s head, hesitantly combing his fingers in his silky black hair that was falling on his forehead. He was cute, his face completely peaceful, his lips slightly jutted into a pout.

Unconsciously, he found himself running the tip of his index finger against Jongho’s cheek, then tracing his nose, his cupid’s bow, gulping when he touched his plump and rosy lips. Hongjoong quickly removed his finger when the younger sighed, the breath that escaped from his parted lips tickling his hand, and Jongho slightly frowned, fluttering his eyes open and rubbing his cheek against the fabric of his shirt.

Hongjoong could only watch, his heart racing and a lump growing in his throat, as Jongho slowly woke up.

When the athlete raised his groggy eyes, meeting those, slightly apprehensive, of Hongjoong, he gulped. Jongho cleared his throat, still a bit lethargic, and carefully sat up, supporting himself with his arms on each side of the elder’s waist – if Hongjoong quickly glanced at the way his muscles contracted, he hoped the other did not notice.

“I’m sorry, I fell asleep,” Jongho whispered, his voice cracking with the remains of their nap and his bangs falling in front of his eyes, darkening them. Hongjoong only shook his head, dismissing his apology, not trusting himself to speak – he felt so shaky.

Hongjoong also sat up, Jongho leaning backward, but it ended up being a mistake when they found themselves even closer than before, their faces just a few centimeters apart – Hongjoong was about to implode, staring into the athlete’s unreadable eyes.

Jongho took a deep breath, holding it in for a second, and glanced down at Hongjoong’s lips. The latter felt blood rush to his ears, folding his hands into fists to hide the way his fingers were trembling on his lap.

“Tell me now if I’ve been reading all of this wrong, but Hongjoong, please, kiss me,” Jongho murmured, implored, his pupils still fixated on the elder’s lips as if they had personally offended him. Hongjoong’s mind blanked out when he felt those words hit his skin more than he heard them, but he did not need to be told twice, shutting down the strident voice in his head that screamed _danger! danger! danger!_ at him, sneaking his hand behind Jongho’s neck and crashing their mouths together.

At first, the kiss was chaste, nothing more than a peck, neither of them daring to move. They parted for a second, staring at each other, looking for some kind of discomfort on each other’s face, but soon Jongho seemed to have found everything he needed on Hongjoong’s face, when he put his palms on the elder’s chest, his fingers grabbing at his shirt, and kissed him again.

Hongjoong could feel all of his hesitation and shy inexperience in the way he caressed his lips with his like he was asking him to take the lead. Tightening his grip on Jongho’s neck, he deepened the kiss, tentatively brushing his tongue on his bottom lip. The athlete sighed in the kiss, and Hongjoong could feel the way their hearts’ pace picked up at the same time when he brought his fingers just under Jongho’s ears, where his blood was pulsing in his veins.

Hongjoong could not hold back a surprised gasp when the skater grazed his teeth against his lip, softly biting. “Is this okay?” Jongho whispered against the corner of his mouth, and Hongjoong hummed.

“More than okay.”

Hongjoong was surprised at how husky his voice sounded, and it seemed that Jongho too, considering the way he blinked at him, his eyes darkened by something that looked like desire. Hongjoong felt the way his pants dangerously got too tight at this sight, fidgeting on the short hair on Jongho’s neck, trying to discreetly move his hips so his trousers would be more comfortable, in vain, because the athlete lowered his gaze exactly where Hongjoong did not want him to look. He felt his cheeks heat up and pecked the side of Jongho’s mouth, trying to attract his attention away from his crotch.

It worked, for a few seconds, Jongho diving on his lips again and stealing Hongjoong’s breath away, with how urgent his kiss was, the way his tongue felt against his making him completely forget his cute clumsiness.

When Jongho wrapped his strong arms around his torso, pressing him against his body and manhandling him until he was straddling his lap, Hongjoong squeaked a panicked “Careful, I’m gonna hurt your leg” out that made the athlete chuckle.

Hongjoong forgot about each one of his worries when Jongho brought them closer than ever, their chests squeezed against each other, and he gasped when their crotches rubbed together.

They lost themselves in an impatient and reckless dance, gasping into each other’s mouths, thrusting their hips up and down, feeling each other’s skin, dirtying themselves up, with sweat and saliva. Leaving a trail of kisses from the corners of their lips to their Adam apples, sucking and biting. Jongho painted the flower carved on Hongjoong’s neck with red and kissed his skin purple. Hongjoong made Jongho gasp and moan, pulling on his hair and ticking the tan rosebuds on his chest. Until they felt like there was no oxygen left on earth, closing their eyes shut, throwing their heads backward.

Slowly, they stopped each one of their movement, intertwined, their hammering pulses coming to a stop. Hongjoong was gasping for air against Jongho’s neck, eyeing the beauty mark that stood out on his skin, despite the lack of light in the room. He could not believe they had just done this, never taking their clothes off, on the couch, like horny and desperate teenagers.

Jongho was combing his hair so gently, his soft breath hitting the crown of his head, and Hongjoong felt his heart drop in his stomach. “Are you okay?” The athlete whispered against his hair, and the elder gaped, opening and then closing his mouth repetitively, not knowing what to say. “Hongjoong?”

“I...” He raised his head to meet Jongho’s eyes. He saw the confusion in his pupils slowly melt into something scared, and it filled him with an uncontrollable panic. “Bathroom.”

Hongjoong knew he was being irrational, he knew it. Still, knowing it could not stop him from scrambling up to his feet, redressing himself up with shaky hands and almost running to the bathroom, where he locked himself for five minutes, trying to regain his breath, his heart frantic.

He should not have done that, this should not have happened, Jongho was too far out of his reach, and in two weeks they would not see each other again. And he needed to leave.

After he had precariously cleaned himself, he got out of the bathroom, finding a decent again Jongho, standing the middle of the room. They appraised each other.

“Hongjoong?” Jongho called, looking painfully self-conscious, and Hongjoong hated how the athlete suddenly looked so young again, how hesitant he was, gripping his crutches so tight Hongjoong could see his joints turning white.

The skater grabbed his hand when Hongjoong tried to walk past him to get out of the house. “I have to leave, my mom’s waiting for me, I’m late.”

“Hongjoong, please, stop,” Jongho’s voice sounded strained, and he gulped, feeling like he was choking. “I don’t know what’s happening, but please don’t think it was a mistake, I…” Hongjoong squeezed his eyes shut. “When you calm down, don’t disappear. When you’re ready, please talk to me.”

Hongjoong folded his hands in fists, his heart hammering. He needed to get out. The elder nodded, croaking out a broken _I will,_ and Jongho let him go.

*

Jongho had woken up feeling like shit. It had been two days now since Hongjoong had stormed out of his house, and no matter how many times he looked at his phone and hoped, there was no sign of him. He was growing more and more restless, worried that never again Hongjoong would show up. It should not have been a surprise when Tuesday it was not him who had come at nine o’clock, and yet Jongho had not been able to hold back the torrent of disappointed tears that had spilled from his eyes when the door opened to show San instead of Hongjoong.

“He told me he’s taking a day off and that I should stay with you,” had muttered his friend, before panicking when those words made him sob, immediately rushing to him to hug his pain away, telling him he would kill the one who _made the unwavering Jongho cry crocodile tears_. The athlete had hit San’s arm, but ultimately let him lead him to the kitchen – not the couch that he had been avoiding ever since Hongjoong had left – where he had him pour his heart out.

Jongho rarely acted on his feelings whenever he caught some for classmates, dance partners, or fellow athletes, often deciding that his career was the only thing worth his attention. However, Hongjoong had come in his life when the only thing that truly mattered to him had been taken out of his hands and had shown him that life mattered even for its small things. Now it felt like it was slowly slipping out of his fingers as well.

Two days. It had been two days without any news from Hongjoong, and he did not know what to do with himself. He had barely slept, too anxious about whether or not Hongjoong would really come back.

After hours and hours of overthinking, he had gone through many stages. From wondering if he had done something wrong, then feeling angry at himself for holding onto the first semblance of light that had come his way when he was down, just to end up falling again on his ass, to being worried about Hongjoong, remembering the sheer panic that had twisted his delicate face.

At no point though, he thought that what had happened, kissing Hongjoong and sharing their breath, had been a mistake, or that there was no sincerity in that moment. Perhaps they had been rash, but everything had felt right at the moment like it all clicked into its place, like being so close to Hongjoong was the missing piece of the incomplete puzzle that was their relationship. He just hoped that Hongjoong felt the same way about him, or that it had not scared him off forever.

Because the more he thought about it, fidgeting and going in circles in his house, he wanted Hongjoong to stay in his life, even if he did not need him anymore; or because he needed him even more, just for the sake of his bright presence in his life.

He was in his bed, staring at his ceiling, feeling his eyelids become heavier and heavier, but turmoil twisting his guts, when his phone rang, making him jump. Jongho almost threw himself out of his bed, swearing at his leg that was yet again in his way, to grab his phone, left on the nightstand.

He stopped breathing, dumbly staring at his screen when he read Hongjoong’s name on it. “Hello?” He hesitantly answered.

A sniffle replied at the end of the line. “Hongjoong, is this you?”

A voice hummed, and Jongho breathed a sigh of relief out, lying back down on his bed, holding his phone close to his ear. He could hear clatter and voices in the background, like Hongjoong was in a crowded place, perhaps a restaurant.

“Jongho, you know you’re so cute?” The athlete’s eyes widened with surprise, at this sudden question, and Hongjoong’s slurred voice.

“Did you drink?” He asked, furrowing his eyebrows, and the other hummed again, giggling.

“Yes, because I’m so useless that I panicked over nothing, and now I don’t even dare to show my face to you,” Hongjoong claimed, sounding a bit whiny and petulant. Jongho felt the corners of his lips lift a little.

“Are you scared, Hongjoong?” Jongho said, repeating the question Hongjoong had asked him after their first real fight. The line stayed silent for a little while, and if the skater could not still hear the background noise, he would have thought the elder had hung up.

“Yeah, shitless,” he chuckled, sounding a little self-deprecating. “Jongho, I’m scared of so many things.”

Jongho closed his eyes, carefully listening to Hongjoong, trying not to miss any of his words. “What’s scary?”

“Future,” Hongjoong sighed, and Jongho imagined him frowning, his face hidden in his crossed arm, perfectly picturing the way he looked when he was frustrated. “Because I think I’m two minutes away from falling in love with you, and you’re… you. The bright Jongho, the nation’s sweetheart, and you’re never scared of getting back up whenever you fall down. And I’m only me, who never knows what to do with himself, who still lives with his mom, and always runs away whenever something’s scary.”

The athlete felt his heart stop when Hongjoong honest confession reached his brain. He gulped and blinked tears away that he had not noticed wetting his eyelids – a mix of delight as Hongjoong had just reciprocated his feelings, and sorrow at the self-doubts he had admitted.

“Where are you?”

He heard Hongjoong sniffle on his phone. “At that one auntie’s street bar down your street,” he answered after two seconds, during which it looked like he was trying to remember where he was. “I think I wanted to come to your place and then chickened out,” Hongjoong admitted.

“Stay where you are, I’m coming as fast as I can, okay?”

It was easier said than done – it was always a struggle to put on his sweatpants, it was even more now that he was rushing. Jongho almost slipped and fell on his ass a ridiculous number of times just trying to get out of his house, balancing opening, holding open, and then closing his door with his hands full of his crutches. Thankfully, the street bar Hongjoong had mentioned was indeed just around the corner, and soon he could see Hongjoong sprawled on his plastic table, alone, and playing with an empty glass.

Jongho was reassured to see that there was only one bottle of alcohol on the table and that it had not been finished. He sat down in front of Hongjoong with a sigh, his palms burning and a little breathless, lying his crutches under the table.

Hongjoong raised his eyes at him, looking like a kicked puppy. “Jongho, I’m sorry I panicked,” he muttered, and the athlete gave him a soft smile, stretching his hand out to get Hongjoong’s silver strands out of his forehead.

“I’m scared too,” he began, playing with the elder’s hair, brushing the tip of his finger against the crease of Hongjoong’s frown, smoothing it down. “About the future. Because I fell in love with you five minutes ago, and you’re you. Beautiful and smart Hongjoong, the most interesting person, and you’re always freely yourself, even if it scares you. And I’m only me, who ruined his career by falling down the stairs, who still acts like a brat, and who has been hiding who he really was his whole life,” Jongho whispered, mirroring exactly Hongjoong’s confession. A smile stretched his lips when tears started pooling in the latter’s eyes, wiping them with his thumb when they fell on Hongjoong’s smooth and pinkish cheeks.

“Seonghwa is coming back in less than two weeks, and I’ll have no reason to come back to your house every day,” he weakly argued, making the athlete laugh wholeheartedly.

“And if I asked you to be my boyfriend, would it be a valid enough reason to come every day?” Jongho felt himself melt when Hongjoong nodded. “Then let’s kill each other’s irrational fears, together. Hongjoong, let’s be boyfriends.”

Jongho felt his heart stop in his chest, filled with fondness when Hongjoong grabbed his fingers that were still playing with his hair, softly kissing his palm. “I wish we weren’t in public so I could kiss you,” the elder murmured against his hand.

And Jongho had rarely felt as sure of himself as he did when he looked around them, appraising the other customers who were not paying them any attention, deciding that even if someone was to notice them or even snap a picture of them, it would not matter much. He put his palms on the plastic table, getting up, and he leaned forward. His balance precarious because of his cast, his cupped Hongjoong’s stunned face between his hands and caught his lips between his, tenderly kissing him. “Help me kill this one fear, boyfriend.”

Hongjoong chuckled, his cheeks squished by his palms, his ears bright red, and squished Jongho’s cheeks back. “I love you,” he whispered against the athlete’s lips.

A few weeks later, Jongho felt whole again, as he woke up with Hongjoong arms wrapped tight around his chest, his eyes still closed and a smile already brightening his face as he intertwined his fingers with Hongjoong’s.

“Good morning,” the latter mumbled, sleepy, in between his shoulder blades. Jongho turned around, clasping his hands behind Hongjoong’s back, bringing the smaller closer to him, taking a deep breath of the artificial scent of his newly dyed red hair. He had a flash of them in his bathroom the day before, bleach burning his own scalp, while he was trying his best to cut Hongjoong’s mullet, laughing their asses off and splashing the bathroom with water and colorful dyes. The eldest had come that day, his bag full of scissors and boxes of hair dye, claiming loudly that they needed to celebrate Jongho’s cast being taken off a few days before and the beginning of getting better, together.

“ _Red for me because I will keep on being too loud for society, and ashy blonde for you because_ _you don’t need to be perfect for the nation anymore,”_ Hongjoong had decided, and Jongho had simply nodded, stretching his arms out, asking for a hug.

“We need to get up, you’re starting physiotherapy today,” Hongjoong whispered in his chest, not making any move to actually get up whatsoever.

“Don’t wanna,” Jongho replied childishly. He thought about the shock of seeing his leg out of the cast again, sprinkled with weird freckles and so much thinner, his muscles having melted. The surge of panic that he had felt he realized that walking was still hard even though it was not immobilized anymore, too light and weak. His fear had quickly been kissed away. Hongjoong had told him encouraging and reassuring words in his ear, promising that he would be here with him during the long and painful months of physiotherapy that were waiting for him, and when he would start dancing and skating again. Whenever he began to feel like he could not get out of his bed, weighed down by the fact that even when he would be able to dance and skate again, it would never be the same way as before, Hongjoong would indulge him a little. At first, cuddling him in bed and silently listening to him, and then forcing him out of bed, reminding that his dream was not only to win medals.

Hongjoong raised his head, his chin digging in his chest, and smiled up at him, puckering his lips, expecting a kiss. Jongho quickly gave him what he wanted, pecking him and this chaste gesture softly morphing into something more sensual, tender, less childish.

Jongho also heard Seonghwa’s words playing in his head. “ _You know, being a coach isn’t so bad, it’s a delight to help someone perfect themselves_.”

And also San’s, “ _Even if you can’t_ _do_ _the hardest jumps anymore, you know that in everyone’s mind, you will never be a failure, because you’ve never been one.”_ Quickly followed by Wooyoung’s, “ _You already touched your goal, now you can find a new one, and it will be just as meaningful even if it’s not as hard to reach as being the best skater.”_

He was getting better, slowly, but surely.

Hongjoong pushed him against the mattress, straddling his hips, and grinned at him, before diving to devour his lips.

Hongjoong had found a new job, one that made him happy, one that made him feel like he was worth something. He had been hired by a small agency that had been looking for talented producers. He had hesitated when Jongho had told him to send his works after Hongjoong showed him the notice on the agency’s website. “ _Just send it, better try and not get in, than wondering your whole life if you could have gotten in.”_ In the end, Hongjoong had done it, and they had loved him – because everyone should love him, Jongho thought.

He slipped his fingers under Hongjoong oversized shirt, an old shirt that might have been actually his, and rested his hands on his thighs, the tip of his fingers playing with the hems of his underwear, humming in their kiss.

Hongjoong had cried for an hour, hiding in his boyfriend’s arms, when he had gotten the email announcing him the good news. “ _Open it for me, tell me only if I got in._ _No_ _, then I will know if I didn’t make it. Let’s delete it, I probably didn’t make it anyways.”_ Jongho had softly stroked the back of his head, his phone screen displaying the positive response, and had urged him to read it. It had ended up in another crisis, the elder slowly convincing himself that he would disappoint everyone on his very first day.

“They’ll _love you, they already do, you deserve this.”_ And they had fallen asleep, Jongho playing with Hongjoong entangled hair, his shirt soaking wet with tears, and his boyfriend snoring, his cheek smashed just above the place where his heart was beating, full of love for the smaller.

“I love you,” Jongho breathed out, as Hongjoong was biting the lobe of his ear.

“I love you, too,” Hongjoong mouthed just under his jaw.

And later, the latter would support his athlete of a boyfriend through the pain of physiotherapy. Then the skater would hold his tiny lover’s hand as they would go to the ice rink to greet Jongho’s juniors as they were training for an upcoming competition. And together, they were getting better.

**Author's Note:**

> huuuuuuuuuuuuuh i hope u liked it leave comments and kudos to tell me your thoughts or what u ate at lunch bye bye
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/mingiopom)  
> [cc](https://curiouscat.qa/etoilephilante)


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